


naitivity

by rayline



Series: mcyt stuff lol [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, F, Fluff, Happy Ending, I promise, M/M, Swearing, f for dream, high school au ig, sapnap is jus lookin out for george, yea its a lot of angst but a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayline/pseuds/rayline
Summary: George was naive, as a freshman. Believing prom would be fun in America. Moving from one continent to the other, the thing that absolutely motivated his young mind was the chance to find a pretty girl and dance with her and fall in love.He certainly didn’t expect to end up where he was now, clad in the same suit everyone else was wearing, sitting by the punch table with a drink in hand, watching his best friend dance with a girl. There he sat, miserable and forlorn.His freshman self certainly hadn’t even considered the possibility of falling in love with a boy-- much less his best friend. His freshman self hadn’t considered many things that happened. Life is so unpredictable that as soon as he stepped foot first onto that campus everything was swept into a tornado disaster.The only calm in that whirlwind of high school was Clay-- or Dream as was his year (grade, he mentally corrected himself) wide nickname.He hadn’t expected a friend like Dream-- constantly loud and bubbly and calm and yet he was the only thread that dug itself under George’s skin and tore him through the rest of this mess of a school. He was grateful that he was always by his side.His heart disagreed.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: mcyt stuff lol [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137227
Comments: 33
Kudos: 344





	naitivity

\--

George was naive, as a freshman. Believing prom would be fun in America. Moving from one continent to the other, the thing that absolutely motivated his young mind was the chance to find a pretty girl and dance with her and fall in love.

He certainly didn’t expect to end up where he was now, clad in the same suit everyone else was wearing, sitting by the punch table with a drink in hand, watching his best friend dance with a girl. There he sat, miserable and forlorn. 

His freshman self certainly hadn’t even considered the possibility of falling in love with a boy-- much less his best friend. His freshman self hadn’t considered many things that happened. Life is so unpredictable that as soon as he stepped foot first onto that campus everything was swept into a tornado disaster.

The only calm in that whirlwind of high school was Clay-- or Dream as was his year (grade, he mentally corrected himself) wide nickname. 

He hadn’t expected a friend like Dream-- constantly loud and bubbly and calm and yet he was the only thread that dug itself under George’s skin and tore him through the rest of this mess of a school. He was grateful that he was always by his side.

His heart disagreed.

He was selfish, he wanted more, always needed more. There was a flame that tickled his veins and burned hotly behind his eyelids watching him spin the lucky girl around-- oh she didn’t understand just how lucky she was to be with Dream. He was kind and funny and incredibly, incredibly smart and all of the things George wished he was and wished he could have as a person.

His heart burned.

The fire in his veins coated the arteries around his heart thickly, swallowing him whole under the thickly coated air of the night outside.

Prom had to be outside, of course. 

Splayed out across the tennis field were games of sorts, messily put up but still usable. Tables littered around the area with foods. Seats that scattered the area, the gazebo that usually laid untouched by people during the regular school year.

And the makeshift stage. It was this little platform decorated with lovely flowers and a lot of effort was clearly put into it. The stars shone brightly onto it, almost perfectly. A tent stood in the middle of it all, with thrown chairs and lovely couples dancing to the speakers blasting music.

George frowned in dismay, wondering how he ended up here as a moping, heartbroken senior. 

His heart would stop working if Dream looked at him one more time with a big smile on his face, that same giddy smile that used to make George’s insides churn with butterflies and gentle flames before he realised it was too late. They were in high school, still so young yet old enough to go out into the world.

Dream loved her, he loved her so much you could tell in his eyes. The way he talked about her, hung out with her, smiled at her, kissed her. It’s the look George tried so desperately to capture but failed time and time again.

He slouched against the drinks table further, pulling his eyes from the scene. There was a boil in the back of his throat, rising up to his cheeks and flushing them pink. Not from embarrassment, but from the pent up energy of willing tears not to fall. 

It didn’t work, when he raised the punch glass to his lips he felt the tears drain down his face. His flushed, stupid, puffy red eyes worn and tired and his throat closed-- choked. It’s like his worst fears were people, strangling him against the set of lockers by his First period. Where he’d talk with Dream so animatedly, where he’d laugh and smile and let his insides turn slushy because of a few giggles on Dream’s part.

George struggled to sip the punch, head turned to the side to watch the end of the grassy field where the lights stopped working and the campus’ main buildings huddled around in a messy circle around the courtyard. And when the fruity, artificial flavour trickled down his lips and down his throat he let out a hunched sob-- feeling the weight of a million pieces crash from his shoulders and dig into his heart.

He’ll never have him, he was alone.

He set the glass down and bit his lip, sneaking a glance back to Dream that he knew would end detrimentally. He was spinning her, delicately around his hand and laughing faintly. His laugh was quiet, but George tore through the crowd to hear it, all while sitting by the table. The lonely punch table in the corner.

Dream’s head turned George’s way, flashing him a bright smile, and George, still crying miserably, forced a smile back, ignoring the way his chest constricted and tears wet the dried skin of his face.

He hadn’t cried in so long. He refused to let himself cry over a lost cause.

But just this once, he allowed himself to break down in front of him.

Dream had 20/20 vision-- but that didn’t mean the bloody bastard could see the tears on his face or the hurt in his eyes from this far away and over blinding lights and colours George couldn’t even see. 

He was right, Dream only turned back to her and kissed her softly against the music.

George couldn’t take any more, he needed to leave.

He turned to Sapnap, who was chatting with Bad a table or two away and shot him a tired smile, going inside to the cafeteria which bordered the field.

Sapnap saw the tears, he was closer and more attentive, but he didn’t pressure it. George already broke down in his arms once about it, it was best to let him be. Keep Dream from him until he could gather himself for the night.

George cascaded down the hill quickly, rounding the corner and pushing the door open to the cafeteria quickly. He slowed his footsteps, slipping the heavy jacket down his arms and swinging into the actual cafe, slipping down in a seat at the far end of the cafeteria. Nobody was here, he was alone.

Somehow, being alone didn’t make him feel better.

\--

Dream knew something was wrong from the start. The bloody idiot couldn’t have been more obvious that he was distraught when Dream pulled up to his driveway and patted the seat next to him, waiting for him to hop in and to go to Prom. The moment they’ve been waiting for all year, right?

Instead, George slipped into the backseat of his car with a tired, almost stricken down look on his face as he cradled himself in his arms and looked out the window begrudgingly. All but avoiding eye contact with Dream.

Dream tried asking what was wrong, but the boy didn’t answer, and Dream just sighed and let it be. The best thing for George was to leave him to it, not enjoying other people barging into problems he didn’t tell anyone about for a reason.

It was when he caught the way the light refracted on his face and the way there was something that distinctly looked like tears slipping out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He’d given his girlfriend a kiss for show and started forwards to ask what was wrong, but George was gone. 

Dream had frowned, debating whether to go back to his girlfriend, but she looked so happy with her friends and George just. He just came above everybody else, constantly.

It was in Dream’s code if you will. 

He hadn’t known how to break it to his girlfriend that shit-- he was in love with a boy. His best friend. He still had to tell her, but he kept backing out. Worried of possibilities that’d never happen in the wildest universe. Some he wanted, some he didn’t.

So when he approached Sapnap and Bad, previously with George, he frowned when Sapnap shot him a tired look. Not a ‘tired of your bullshit’ look-- but tired, exhausted. Ready for the night to end. 

“Where’s George?” Dream asked immediately, straight to the point.

Sapnap frowned. Never a thing Dream liked to see. “Library,”

Dream already knew he was lying.

“Doing what?”

Sapnap frowned further, okay maybe he was a bit pushy but. You know, “Bathroom, I’d guess,”

“For the 4th time?”

“I don't know maybe the man’s got a wicked bladder he hasn’t told us about, or a secret superhero life,”

“If he had a secret superhero life I’m pretty sure I’d know,” Dream parried. Sapnap sighed, swirling his drink around in the meagre plastic cup provided.

“I saw him crying, Sapnap. Please,”

Sapnap’s lips twisted around and pinched together. “I can’t tell you that,” 

“Why not?” Dream asked, almost exasperatedly. His hands moving from his pockets to gesture vaguely in the air.

There was only silence, and Sapnap looked down to his feet nervously. Dream turned to Bad, “Bad? Please,”

Bad shook his head miserably, eyebrows furrowed and a sad, pitying look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Bad whispered, crossing his arms over his stomach, seeing the grief-struck on Dream’s face.

“Why.”

Sapnap looked up, hesitantly. “Why?”

“Why wont you tell me?” His voice was cracking, god he was so so worried and he was so emotional and he thinks he’d cry and break down and rip someone to shreds if George wasn’t by his side constantly. Wasn’t there to laugh, to look at him with those honey cream eyes. To roll his eyes at his dumb jokes or giggle the way he did. 

He can’t lose George-- he can’t He’d lose himself in the process.

Bad pursed his lips and looked away, unsure how to break whatever was going on to Dream.

“I can’t say.”

That broke the man.

“Why? What do you mean you can’t say?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” He stepped forwards, almost angrily, hands clawing by his pants to keep him from doing anything.

Sapnap flinched at his sudden change of tone, putting the cup down beside him and uncrossing his arms to put them up surrendering. “Dream, I’m sorry but-”

“Sapnap, please, where did he go.”

Sapnap stayed silent.

“Sapnap.”

Nothing.

“Bad?”

Bad looked away.

“C’mon guys, please, please.”

No response.

“Sapnap,”

Sapnap shook his head.

“Nick.”

Sapnap bit his bottom lip, not used to the man calling him by his real name and not his actual name. 

“He’s in the cafeteria,” Bad finally whispered.

Sapnap almost looked offendedly to Bad. “Bad- we can’t just,”

“He needs to know, Sapnap, he can’t be locked in the dark forever,” Bad tried, turning back to face Sapnap and waving a free hand around.

“Locked about what?” Dream asked, a little confused but less worried now that he knew where to head.

“Well yeah no shit but not in the state George is in,” Sapnap countered, moving his hands back to his pockets.

“George will kill us if we tell him.” Bad replied.

“Hey, hello, tell me what.” Dream waved his hands a bit, but Sapnap and Bad continued to ignore him. It would almost be comical if there wasn’t an overwhelming hurriedness to find George bubbling in his stomach.

“It’s better us than him,” Sapnap deflected, meagrely. 

“Guys,” Dream finally said, voice louder and toner harsher.

“What.” Both said in unison, turning to face him.

“What’s going on?”

“Dream, don’t go in the cafe,” Was Sapnap’s response.

“Sapnap,” Bad tried. 

“No, Darryl, listen, he’ll hurt George at this rate,”

As soon as the words left Sapnap’s mouth, Dream saw red.

Just the blinding colour of red.

“What did you just say?” Dream asked, taking a step forward, invading Sapnap’s personal space. Sapnap, ever as nonchalant, just removed his hands from his pockets and opened his mouth to talk.

“I said-” Sapnap started, immediately being cut off by the taller man.

“No I heard what you fucking said.” 

His nails dug into the fabric of his clothing to prevent him from punching Sapnap in the face. For insinuating he’d ever hurt him, for insinuating anything. 

What had he become?

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I won’t hurt him.”

Sapnap visibly bit back a remark. It was better than hearing whatever he had to say, anyways.

Bad sighed. “Dream, just go.”

Right, yes, George.

Dream nodded and slipped out of the designated prom area and moved to get towards the cafeteria, a nervous pace in his step.

\--

Breathing harsh, hands digging into his eyes. Tears were littering the hardwood table and raspy hiccups breaching the once silent air of the Cafeteria. He sat in a lonely corner, forcing the tears out and waiting for the searing pain to stop tearing his insides out and laying them out on a silver platter for whoever came in and out of the cafe to take a break.

So when he heard footsteps cascading into the cafeteria, the last person he expected was Dream. He didn’t even know it was him until a hushed “George,” broke the air of his sobs. So many people came and went without saying a word to the broken boy he flinched when he heard his voice.

He dug his palms out of his eyes and turned to find Dream standing there in the middle of the doorway to the cafeteria, the softest and caring look in his eyes that resulted in a thundering hiccup of pain from George. It felt like his blood was spilling onto the floor, leaking all of his dirty secrets.

Go away, he wanted to scream. To holler so badly. His instincts told him to run away from the pain and somewhere safe. His primitive part of his mind screamed to get away from the danger that was slowly approaching him.

Go away, go away, go away, was what he tried to say in between hiccups, but they were so muffled and indistinguishable it came out in a blubbering, incoherent string of words and sounds. 

“George,” Dream repeated, that stupid soft tone that only let the blow flow further.

“Go away,” he managed.

Dream’s face fell. “What?”

“Go away,” George repeated 

“But-” Dream started, moving to put a hand on George’s shoulder. He slapped it away and shifted his seat backwards. His voice was broken and it hurt him to even speak, and Dream could see how hard it was for the poor boy to keep speaking.

“Go away.” He tried again, his voice hiccuping.

Dream shifted, ever stubbornness seen in the way he leaned forwards and gently caressed George’s hand on the table, looking the man in the eyes as he said, “No.”

George slid his hand back. “Please.”

“No.”

“Please go away,” His voice was breaking, he was shivering. He was cold, so cold and he was so tired and pathetic looking and he looks like he hasn’t eaten in days and Dream just wants to hold him until the pain goes away. Hold him tightly and never let and never let down until he can walk on his own again and Dream will hold his hand as he learns to.

But now’s not the time. Whenever it will be, Dream’s ready.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what's wrong.” He was only making the situation worse, he could tell in the boy's blown eyes and his glassed over skin, cascading tears.

He stuttered to a halt in silence, and George looked anywhere but Dream, looking to the ground. “....I can’t.” He whispered.

“Why not?” Dream pushed further. He was hurting him, he could see it.

Maybe Sapnap was right.

“I just can’t- ok?!” His tone grew louder and his hands were shaking more visibly now. He was clawing for his shirt by his sides. His voice was wrecked, face raw and torn. He looked so broken, so  _ so  _ broken.

“George-” Dream tried, softly.

“Leave.” George cut him off, a single tear slipping from his notice and swiping down his otherwise perfect face.

“I-” Dream tried one last time.

“Go.” George nearly shouted, voice hoarse and his shirt ruffled and his face broken.

This was all Dream’s fault.

He lost for the first time in a very long time.

He stood up from the table quietly, hanging his head in shame as he walked very slowly out of the cafeteria, waiting by the door and hearing the way the boys' tears and hiccups flooded more and the way his screams, his pleas for the pain to stop grew louder.

He hoped he didn’t lose George.

\--

Sapnap drove George home that day. They didn’t talk in the car at all. George sat in the passenger's seat, gloomy-looking out the window and watched as the midnight rain poured and as girls screamed as they hurried to their car to avoid getting their hair wet.

They arrived at George’s house quickly, and as George unlatched his seatbelt, Sapnap started with a soft “Hey,”

George looked at him, wordlessly. 

“If you ever need to talk, I-I’m here. I know it’s hard right now but.” He paused. “Tell someone, anyone.”

George nodded tiredly, not in the mood to fight and unlocked the door, slipping out of the car and watching as Sapnap drove away in the pouring rain.

Footsteps coming from another direction collided against the puddles on the sidewalk, turning George’s head involuntarily to the figure out in the rain at this hour.

It was Dream, soaking wet. His hair stuck to his face and he was huffing, did he run all the way from his house? His jacket was long discarded and his shirt stuck to his figure against the heavy drops of water dragging them down. George tugged at his sleeve, baffled and unsure what to say as the man stopped in front of him, maybe a few feet.

“What are you-” he hiccupped, trying to find the right words and the confidence to speak. “-you doing here?”

“What’s going on?” Dream led quickly.

George’s mouth was left agape for a second.“What’s going on? WHAT’S GOING ON?” He parrotted, sticking his hands out from his pockets and having had enough of the day's drama. His hands flapped around nervously, worriedly, because he knew this was the conversation that ended his friendship. He’d lose everything now, and he wasn’t ready. “I’m in love with you, Clay, that’s what’s going on!”

Clay stood silent for a few too many minutes, brushing the hair out of his face as the rain continued to pour. “...That’s why you're crying?” he let out, meagrely. 

“YES! YES IT FUCKING IS!” He breathed angrily, his breath coming out in fans, frozen air. “WHAT’RE YOU GOING TO DO? MOCK ME? Punch me?! Kick me?!” He’d heard it all before.

That word. The F word.

He refused to even think about it. He hated the thought of it. The last thing he wanted was to hear it from Clay’s mouth. He could imagine him saying it, an angry look on his face and breaking all contact. Leaving George alone, in the rain, never to see him again. “Because if you are then just GO!-”

“NO!” Clay parried, screaming louder than George to get the poor boy to calm down. “No, Jesus fucking christ George I love you too!”

George fell silent.

It wasn’t true, It wasn’t true. He was lying for you. He could never love you, a freak like you, a disgusting piece of shit like you. He could never love you, or your laugh or smile. Not like you love him. He’ll never love you.

It’s a lie.

“No, no you don’t.” George croaked, voice torn.

“Yes I do,” Clay huffed, out of breath, as if he’d been waiting to say it for a million years. 90 tons of pent up energy thrown off his shoulder.

George just wanted the pain to end. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Clay parroted. 

“Saying things I want you to say,” Voice hoarse, sick of lies.

Please, he almost said, just stop lying. End it now, get it over with.

It’s not worth it.

“I’m noy lying,” Clay huffed. His voice was rubbed raw too, and if the rain was blurring George’s vision he might’ve made out the circles under Clay’s eyes. The red puffiness and the hint of maroon tinting his nose in a painful sight.

He’d been crying. He’d been crying really hard.

“That’s one lie,” George whispered, unable to find the strength to continue speaking normally.

“George please, I do love you,” Clay begged. His throat was closing up, you could hear the desperation in his voice as he stepped forwards. George stepped back.

“Two,”

“GEORGE!” Clay shouted against the thunder rain. George stopped, didn’t move when Clay took another step. And another, and another until their personal spaces were invaded and broken and not there. As if merged, let alone together. Pieced.

“Please look me in the eyes. Please.” He begged, moving a hand to George’s jaw, whose face was turned away to see the impending disappointment in the other man’s eyes. He gently tilted his jaw towards his face, and George had to swallow to keep in a million more emotions at seeing the man's eyes. The colours he’d never see but were beautiful anyways. 

“I love you.”

George choked, and more tears brimmed and breached the hard wall he had set up. He could see it, in his eyes. How he’d been crying, how he meant it. He could feel the heart on the other man's wrist beating through his ears, screaming and pleading for him to believe him.

“Do you mean it?” He whispered hoarsely. 

“Yes. From the bottom of my heart I-I, I love you so fucking much god it fucking hurts. So please, don’t shut me out George.” Clay choked on tears, and it was indistinguishable from the rain but his face showed so much pain and his voice hiccupped accordingly. 

“Please.” Clay begged one last time. His hand was shaking on the other man's jaw, he was pleading for someone, anyone to let him have this. Let him finally be whole.

George let out a broken breath and buried his face into Clay’s chest, tightly wrapping his hands around his back quickly and sobbing into his chest. No thoughts fixated his mind, just the cool drops splattering his back and the warmth hugging him back carefully right now.

Without a lot of warning, Clay broke the embrace quickly. He was rushed, so ready to finally end the pain and suffering he’d tossed and turned over for years as he slid his hand quickly back under George’s jaw and slipped his lips onto his. George kissed back quickly, tears lining the faces where they met and the slow gentle warmth encompassing the distress.

No more hard feelings lied, and while sparks don’t literally go off in real life it was the closest you could get without high budget actors and professional lighting.

Because it was real. George would be crying if he wasn’t already because here he was, snuggled up tightly in Clay’s arms, kissing him and never wanting to let go because he was so tender so perfect just like he always imagined. Maybe he wasn’t the greatest kisser but he was Clay and that was enough for him.

When they parted for breath it was only a second before George was back on Clay, arms grasping the man's shoulders with gasps of air in between the tongues of fire licking at his skin.

Air was always a voluntary need, anyways.

This was enough, right now, anyways.

When they finally pulled apart one last time, panting for air and laughing softly among themselves, they made their way back inside George’s house quietly. And as they flicked each other with towels, drying themselves off, it felt almost perfect.

And as they sat on the couch and snuggled up quietly against each other watching whatever was on TV, it felt perfect.

And it was.

\--

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comes back from school  
> writes rpf  
> hate living <3


End file.
